Word Count → 437 :: Sorry for the wait in getting this up!

Vesper ran. And for once she ran for the love of running, the exhilaration that came from deep breaths and adjustment over uneven terrain. She leaped over tree roots, slipped through thickets, spooked a rabbit into a flight of its own. The coyote hybrid soared over a brook, her hind paws digging into the mud on the opposite bank as she rushed on again. Her feet fell soundlessly on pine needles and slipped across wet leaves, but each time she stumbled, she corrected her balance—perfection.

Today was a rare day—one that she was able to take note of all the beauty of the world without staring at every bush askance. Her belly was full—though not too full as to impede her movement—and her temperament bright. All of her various wounds over the past few months had healed, leaving her as fresh as she could be.

Autumn was the most beautiful season, after all, and it was also the season of her birth. The month of October was ticking away, and while she wasn’t quite one to celebrate birthdays, she did know that this would be her first in the territory of Nova Scotia. And—somehow—she felt that this was significant, that she could have a place here. The covert meeting with Noir and the others had left her with a tingling feeling; after all, she would be a part of something greater than herself for once. It wasn’t quite the same as having a pack, but that meant less responsibility as well. The daughter of a wolf and coyote, she was able to tread both paths—that of a social creature or a xenophobic loner as her mother had been. She liked the dividing line quite fine.

She paused in running for only a moment, leaping up onto a tree stump and catching her breath, her tongue lolling from her slender jaws. A wind ruffled through her growing winter coat, and she shivered with a mixture of cold and pleasure. A scarlet leaf fell from the canopy above and kissed her flank before drifting down onto the forest floor. All around her was the scent of pine and decaying wood, and she inhaled deeply before leaping down, her paws easily avoiding the knobby roots that belonged to the severed trunk.

Another animal was nearby—a canine, perhaps one of coyote blood. The scent was covered in that of damp rotting leaves, however, and she could not be certain if it was fresh or not. Her large ears swiveled in various direction before she shrugged and smirked, careless with contentment this October day.